Hidden by the Shadows
by NitnatRide
Summary: There's something at the Necromancer Temple that no one expected to find. Kind of a replacement for Mortal Coil, but may deviate very slightly from plot. Bit of romance, but not Caelan/Valkyrie. Nothing against it, I just want him myself ;   read 1st A/N. Previous called "Reunion"
1. Chapter 1

**So yeah, hey guys. Basically this is after Dark Days, and is kind of a replacement for Mortal Coil, because I'm absolutely awful at plotlines. So I'm stealing the Mortal Coil plot, possibly adding a bit extra, and just changing the characters a bit. I don't own any of the Skulduggery Pleasant stuff. I do own, however, Willow Nightshade and any plotline deviations you may or may not find along the way.**

**Chapter 1: Late night wander**

**Valkyrie's POV**

For a dark, sinister place that is teeming with equally-dark and – sometimes – equally-sinister people who thrive off death, the Necromancer Temple can be boring as hell.

I'm at one of my Necromancy lessons that I now take once a week for four hours with Wreath; Skulduggery eventually caved and accepted that Necromancy could be useful on our side, allowing me these lessons. Alone, however, as he still does not care to linger in the Temple. I may be seeing the reason for this now.

Wreath was called out of my lesson to discuss some "matters of interest with his Eminence", leaving me with no teacher; they don't offer substitutes like they do in mortal schools. Wreath's been gone half an hour, and I started wanting to climb the walls twenty minutes ago. Knowing Tenebrae, he knows that I'm reacting like this and so, because of his dislike of me, Wreath won't be back for another hour at least.

This knowledge in mind, I've been waiting for the surprisingly incessant and busy footsteps outside the "classroom", hurrying up and down, to quieten, waiting for my opportunity to go to my favourite place in the Temple. Finally, _**finally**_, I get my wish, and I pull the thick, heavy door slowly towards me, peeking my head out to confirm my hope, then slipping out of the room. Keeping my hand on the door so it closes softly behind me, I turn to the right, heading straight down that corridor and following a route I've long since memorised.

I first happened across this room by accident, as I was doing some exploring – whilst avoiding Craven. I had first thought the room inside was a miracle in a place like this. But what the room contained is even more so, and is what is drawing me there now.

I reach the fairly-familiar door and check both ways before knocking softly twice, then opening it. Immediately it's like I've stepped into another world as the now-present gap in the one-way Sound Seal allows Avril Lavigne's "Best Damn Thing" to meet my ears. I smirk at the source of the noise – the just-right-sized black speakers hung "floating" on either side of the head of the tasteful, if slightly punk-Gothic, hot pink-heart bed covers in the thick black wooden double-bed frame lined along the back wall in the right-hand corner. A fine black-and-white photo of the New York skyline hangs between the two speakers, the black control panel of the music system being next to the large white corner desk diagonally from the bed, with an iPod nano currently in the dock. The full-length mirrored-door wardrobe in the middle of the left wall makes the room full of light despite the too few LED lamps dispersed about the room. And the bookshelves; "floating" black, white and red shelves above the desk; the enormous white bookcase next to the wardrobe – all filled with books with titles such as "1000 Funny Pranks You Can Play With Elemental Powers".

Basically it's a way-cool teenage Elemental's bedroom. In the middle of the Necromancer Temple.

As I step further into the room, intending to flick through the songs, my hands tingle with a change in the air pressuring around me; too late for me to do anything to block the kick to the head, but enough warning to connect a fist to my opponent's jaw afterwards. Their head jerks to the side, and they use that momentum to balance on their hands and swing both feet into my ribs, knocking the breath out of me and making me collapse, thankfully, onto the bed.

I lie on my back, doing my fish-out-of-water impression until a face and outstretched hand appear in my vision. The face – I will freely admit – is fabulous: below-the-shoulder, light-auburn, and _**perfect**_ large corkscrew curls compliment pale, unblemished skin and unnaturally vibrant green eyes, the colour you would make grass when painting as a five-year-old. The annoyingly straight and bleached teeth, now grinning down at me, mar nothing on this face. Were I able to share with anyone that I know the existence of this girl, I'm sure many young Necromancers would agree that Willow Nightshade is quite a catch.

"Nice," her voice – much like any seventeen-year-old's, if smoother – sounds genuinely impressed. "Your reflexes are improving."

I grin back up at her, clasping her hand so she can help me back to my feet. "Thanks," I say, secretly revelling in the fact that _**she**_ is impressed with me. "It's not as if yours have got any worse either." She chuckles, allowing that praise.

Now that I'm standing up, I can appreciate her clothing too; black jeans with black Doc Marten-esque boots, much like mine. A long white figure-hugging T-shirt with an assortment of colour and images and words splashed randomly across it, with her trademark black hoodie on top of it. And of course, earrings with electric guitars, black treble clefs and hot pink quavers hanging down, and her black leather necklace/choker with the magnetic clip at the front which looks like two loops of rope just beginning to be tied together, one resting through and on top of the other. When I asked her about it before, she said it used to mean something, and so is very precious to her. She hasn't told me what it means though, but I wrestle with my curiosity; something about Willow, maybe in her face or eyes, promises openness and honesty with you, and so I know I must wait until she has gathered enough courage to tell me about it. She hasn't even hinted at how old she is, so I figure her past must be a sensitive subject, which makes me even more careful about keeping my interest at bay.

"You know," I tell her, distracting myself from these thoughts, "the pink doesn't exactly go with your hair."

Waving her hand dismissively, she grimaces slightly. "I know, I know, but it's a really good colour, and there aren't many greens out there that scream 'don't mess with me'."

"Yeah, but even with those earrings, don't people try and have a go at you anyway? They only find out that they shouldn't have messed with you after they're on the floor with multiple – possibly severe – injuries."

We both laugh at how true that statement actually is, then collapse onto her surprisingly comfy bed, sighing. I relish these moments; the ones where I feel like a normal human girl, with her best friend, collapsing onto her bed for a chat over the latest gossip.

"So-o" she smirks at me, and I prepare myself; never underestimate a question that comes after the word "so" containing two syllables. "How are things with you and Fletcher?"

I can't help the rush of heat that fills my face as I look down. "Yeah," I mutter. "We're good. We're good."

She smiles knowingly, teasingly, but then her face softens, almost saddens. "You know, you're lucky to have a boyfriend, and by your description, a cute, sweetie-pie of one too. A Teleporter no less. I bet it must be cool to go anywhere for a date." She looks to me for confirmation, and my head bobs before I can stop it, knowing it would make her sad. She drops her gaze to her bedcovers. "All the boys here are either boring or obsessed with death. Or both." The air suddenly seems too heavy for anything more than a humourless huff. "I need to get out of here," she whispers.

"Then why don't you?" I try to be the reassuring friend. "Come with me tonight. Sneak out – you know this place like the back of your hand – and I'll wait for you out front. I'll take you back to my place, pretend to my parents that you're a friend from school."

She smiles slightly at me, looking up from picking her bedcovers. "That all sounds great. Thank you. But I can't. I can't leave this place yet."

I raise my eyebrows in question.

"Well," she stutters. "I…ah, it would be easier if you knew my story first, but…basically, I've been here for a _**very**_ long time. Because I've been gathering my strength from the air of Necromancy magic, so in time I can stay outside the Temple…and stay alive, too." She groans in frustration at the shock and incomprehension in my eyes. "I'll explain it all to you one day soon, I promise. And anyway, I can't leave here because who knows what'd happen to Wreath."

"Wreath?" I ask, wondering why she seems quite protective of him.

"Wreath is the one looking after me. He's been practising sparring with me, and teaching me Necromancy. The latter for defensive purposes only; I'm not a big fan of the idea of manipulating death, although I haven't got much against those who do." She pauses a while there, curiously, before continuing. "Anyway, Wreath is, in relation, the 'good guy'. He's the best of all the Necromancers, the one who would actually stick on your side if he knew it was morally right, rather than judging it on if it would have the best outcome for Necromancers alone. He's also got a sense of humour, which is _**seriously**_ needed in this place."

"Oh, so I don't provide those services?" I feign hurt, placing my hand over my heart and looking down.

She laughs, proving my point. "I meant _**before**_ you stumbled, awestruck, into my room."

"Oh, come on; can you blame me? This place is like an oasis in the Temple, and you're so lucky to get a place like this."

Half-smiling again, she says, "Yeah, well maybe that's just because I have to stay in this place twenty-four-seven. Trust me, it gets kind of boring after over four hundred years."

I freeze. Turning to her with my mouth wide open, I see that she has that look on her face. You know, the one that says, "Oh God, I've said too much."

"What?" I'm completely breathless, so my question doesn't come out as more than a whisper. "But you don't look over seventeen! How can you stay that young after that amount of time? Even Ghastly and China don't look that young."

She seems to wince slightly as I mention China, which I filed away for later evaluation. "Listen, I need to go now anyway, and I know your history is a hard subject for you, so this'll give you time to gather your thoughts. When I come back – I don't know when that'll be – I'll completely understand if you tell me you're not ready yet to say. Just think about it."

I start to get up when she tugs on my sleeve, drawing my attention again. "Thanks," she says, looking down. "It's not that I don't trust you or anything, it's just…"

"I know," I reassure her. "I know it's hard for you."

She bobs her head slightly in agreement, seemingly unconsciously. I can see the edges of her eyes shimmering slightly from this angle, and I sit down on the bed again to wrap my arms around her. It seems backward; the younger of the two of us looking like the strong protector of the eldest, when I know for a fact that she could probably kick anyone's arse in the world, considering she would have nothing else to do here except practice magic and combat.

Eventually her sniffles die down, and I take my leave, giving her one last hug of reassurance before quickly exiting and quietly making my way back to my "classroom". I sit down on one of the side-benches, acting trèscasual, like, "Me? Sneaking out of class? How _**dare**_ you insinuate such an obscenity?"

After about another five minutes of waiting, Wreath returns, looking distressed to say the least. His brow is creased in intense concentration on a topic other than my education, and his eyes seem troubled yet faraway.

"Bad meeting?" I guess.

His head whips toward me, as if he hadn't before realised that there's someone else in the room. His eyes eventually focus on me properly, and take on the chastising tint, like he was talking to a badly-behaved kitten that he can't help but love.

"That's none of your concern," he says, a playful smile tugging slightly at the corners of his mouth. But the worry lines remain on his forehead. "Now come on; back to your training."

We practice both defensive and offensive moves for the rest of the lesson, but my entire concentration isn't in it. I'm thinking about how someone over four-hundred-years-old manages to remain looking only seventeen. I'm thinking about what Tenebrae said that Wreath obviously doesn't agree with – will he do what Willow said he does, and disregard his orders for the sake of morality? And, most importantly, I'm thinking our situation – _**my**_ situation – is about to get a hell of a lot worse.

**Willow's POV**

She reminds me of me. There's something about her – whether it's that she's easy to talk to, or the caring nature she shows towards me, or her stubbornness to continue in a fight, or a combination of all of them – that gives me a huge case of déjà-vu. And that empathy, that similarity, makes me want to just blurt it all out to her.

She knows Skulduggery anyway, so I won't have to explain the details of what happened to me; odds are, he's already told her. She's an easy person to trust. It's just…that leap of faith I'd take with telling her…I won't be able to jump back ever again. As soon as my secret's out of this Temple, it's going to spread like wildfire. People will hear, "Hey, you know Willow Nightshade? Yeah, the Earth Caller? She's actually alive." As soon as the wrong ears catch a glimpse of that, they'll be after me.

Skulduggery would hear too, of course. Who knows what he'd think of me? Effectively hiding from him for four hundred years. He'd accuse me of psychologically torturing him. He'd hate Wreath and Tenebrae for sure, but he might even hate Valkyrie, his partner, for hiding this from him as well.

I huff in frustration, falling to the side, so I lie with my head on the Gothic pillow. As soon as Valkyrie Cain had stumbled into my room, I had seen a friend, a way to vent all the emotions inside me, a way to get rid of the burning of my suppressed secret. And I can't even tell her. Mum always said that I assessed the consequences of my actions too much, that I should just go for something blindly and see where it took me. Tears prick at my eyes as I think of Mum. After four hundred years, you'd think I'd have gotten over it. After all I've been through even when she was alive, you'd think it wouldn't matter so much to me anymore. But no; I'm Willow Nightshade, the Earth Caller, lying on my bed in the Necromancer Temple – a place I had no desire to be anyway – and I want my Mum.

I've never felt so pathetic and weak in my life.


	2. Prison Break

**Forgot to mention in the last chapter; Willow was wearing her "trademark" black fingerless gloves. You'll all find out about their significance later in the story ;)**

**Chapter 2: Prison Break**

**Valkyrie's POV**

"Good lesson?" Skulduggery asks me as I climb into the Bentley.

"Boring," I lie easily. "Wreath left me on my own for some ungodly length of time whilst he had a meeting with Tenebrae."

"Oh?" Always the detective, there is an unspoken question in that simple word. I shrug in response.

"I tried to play your good little sidekick and tease the subject out of him but it didn't work. He obviously wasn't happy about the outcome though."

"Hmm…" Skulduggery tilts his head back slightly, and I know if his sockets still contained eyes they would be turned upwards as he considers possible discussion topics that Wreath would not agree with. "Wreath seems to be opposing the Necromancer Council's choices more frequently now. Interesting…"

I know what he's thinking about, and understand that line of speculation; what with the threat of the dreaded Darquesse destroying everything in her path, we needed to gather as many allies as possible. A lot would probably be needed to take her down. I should know; it's taken a lot to stop me so far, and I'm not lying down yet.

It was horrible first knowing that I was Darquesse. The dream whisperer doll, just repeating that name over and over again; accusing me of something I haven't done yet, but apparently will inevitably do.

No, that's not true; I have a say in this. I'll get my True Name – Darquesse, the name I never wanted – Sealed, and no one will be able to use me for their benefit. I won't let myself be a puppet.

"Valkyrie?"

I jump at the sound of my name. I suddenly realise that whilst I had been lost in my musings Skulduggery had started driving again, and that we are now speeding through Dublin centre with Skulduggery glancing at me every so often. "Are you okay?"

"Sure." God, I hate lying to him. "Just trying to figure out what Tenebrae wanted Wreath for."

To make myself feel less guilty, I now attempt to do what I claimed to be doing. Willow said Wreath is independent in his views, sometimes personally supporting a motion or person against the views of the Council. Assuming Tenebrae knows about Willow – he must, or he would be very suspicious of Wreath disappearing to teach Necromancy and to spar with Willow – perhaps he wants to do something with her and Wreath has developed an attachment to his four-hundred-year pupil. That means, if Wreath is against that, Willow could be in danger. Fabulous.

Or maybe it was about me; Wreath is, again, on the side of the minority whereas many of the other Necromancers hate the sight of me. Maybe it's the same situation as the one I've just thought of, but with me instead of Willow. So _**I**_ could be in danger.

I don't like my options.

I'm listing all the secret exits in the Temple that Willow has told me about in preparation for the potential future emergency when Skulduggery pulls the Bentley up to my house. He turns to look at me as he puts the handbrake on.

"Try to get as much sleep tonight as possible. I need you refreshed tomorrow as we're going after Marr."

"That'll be an interesting reunion. I owe her a punch or two."

"I'll save some for you," he promises.

I grin at him as I get out of the car, wishing him a goodnight, then walk up my drive quietly. As I get below my window, I splay my hands at my sides, pushing at the air and propelling myself upwards. I grab onto my ledge, hauling myself through my now-open window and turning around to wave as the Bentley speeds away.

As I turn back to my room, the reflection looks up from my desk, interrupted from doing some sort of maths. Once again, I worship the fact that I don't have to pour over ridiculously hard and pointless algebra.

"What homework is that?" I ask the mirror-image of myself.

"Simultaneous equations. It's some weird method that not many understand," it responds in an identical voice.

"Do you understand it?"

It shrugs in an all-too-familiar way. "More or less."

"Great; keep making me look good," I approve with my back turned as I take my coat off. I hear a snort behind me, and whirl around.

"What was that for?" I demand, surprised, concerned and indignant all at once.

The reflection looks up again with a look of confusion on its face. "What was what for?"

"You laughed at me," I insist. "You scoffed at what I told you to do."

"Did I?" it answers too indifferently. It shrugs again, stretching my patience _**very**_ thin. "It just seemed a bit selfish, and sounded like something you would say. I don't remember laughing though."

Silence smothers the room again as I try not to explode at this biologically dead copy of me for having the nerve to laugh at me and call me selfish – _**selfish**_! The only reason I'm using that _**thing**_ is because I'm protecting my parents from the truth about magic and where I really go and what I get up to all the time. And this empty shell dares to call me _**selfish**_?

I sigh as I force the anger down, pushing my thumb and forefinger into my eyes as I feel another headache coming on. "Just go into the mirror. Please. You can do the homework tomorrow."

The reflection gets up with a word, walking calmly to the mirror and stepping through before turning back to face me. Now rubbing my temples, I cross the room distractedly and touch the mirror, and all the memories of inconsequential happenings flood into me. I try to ignore the nagging sensation that the reflection still has laughter in its eyes; laughing at yourself is fine, but having another _**part**_ of yourself laughing at you is not fun.

Feeling too tired and drained from the last part of my Necromancy lesson – Wreath made up for the lost time by working me extra hard – I skip going downstairs to talk with my parents and collapse straight into bed after removing my clothes, sleep welcoming me almost before my head has hit the pillow.

ЖЖЖ

**Willow's POV (Note: this is about five or six days later, so Marr has been captured by then and taken to Kenspeckle, and pretend that Valkyrie never asked Caelan to taste her blood – it would ruin the romance pairing of this fanfic, and it seemed pointless anyway as it didn't seem to matter what his opinion was; Valkyrie got her name sealed anyway.)**

You know you're bored and depressed when you're the Warden of Earth, the one who relishes in almost everything natural, and the _**stone**_ ceiling you're staring up at seems dull.

Sitting in my designated, isolated room, staring up at the dull stone ceiling, I fantasise about a field. A pretty one, a wide-open one like a clearing in a forest, one with tons of flowers and trees at the edge and stones and a river. All of them talk to me, whispering of happiness, contentment, joy, tranquillity.

And then I hear laughter; _**their**_ laughter. Turning calmly yet joyfully around, my smile widens as my happiness threatens to explode within me. Running back to the picnic blanket set out, I sit back down again, with Mum and Dad on either side of me, smiling proudly at me. Not proud because I'd done anything recently; apparently just proud because I'm their daughter. Smiling back at them both, I lie down, snuggling further into Dad's chest as he plays with my hair and plants a kiss on top of my head.

But suddenly, the warmth behind me disappears, and two breathing patterns are suddenly absent from my ears, and it's _**unforgiving**_ stone – rather than the stone I like – beneath me instead of grass, and the scent of the flowers and the sounds of the birds and the river are gone. I open my eyes with a gasp.

I'm in a room. A room of pure stone that cackles menacingly, taunting me with tales of torture and pain. A man is here; a man in a casual suit, one with no tie and a few of the top buttons undone, his hands in his pockets, a smile on his face that suggests he thinks there aren't _**enough**_ of the buttons undone. His black hair is a mass of pure shadow on his head and his eyes are insultingly close to mine in colour. That similarity has always unnerved and disgusted me, especially since I have had nothing to do with this man until the war.

I have fought against Nefarian Serpine and his lackeys many times due to the war.

Serpine stalks towards me, his smile growing wider as the distance between us shrinks, my back so far against the wall I wish I could melt through it. I could, if it weren't for these goddamned binds on my wrists. My panic and fear begins to overwhelm me, my panting turning to whimpering even as I tell myself to keep calm. He bends down, capturing my chin between his thumb and forefinger and staring into my eyes as he leans closer. His breath reeks of malice and sadistic enjoyment, and I try not to retch in his face as he laughs softly.

"You're all alone, little flower," he murmurs, his eyes betraying his excitement. "I'm the only one here with you."

In a desperate attempt to escape, I surge forwards with my hands as bound fists in front of me…and end up punching air.

My gaze darting around, I see shelves of books, LED lamps and a desk in replacement of the bare stone walls – although there are stone walls around, marking the outside of the room. There's a bed under me too, as opposed to the stone floor. I'm in my room, the room I have in the Necromancer Temple. And, according to Val and the tales of her own adventures, Serpine's dead.

But so is Mum.

The memories of those awful days, the ones where my life was completely ruined, twist the figurative knife always present in my chest, and I slap a hand over my mouth to smother my cries and whimpers of anguish and despair.

The stones of the Temple structure inform me of a presence heading my way, and I quickly gain control of myself, swiping my forearm across my eyes angrily, annoyed with myself. I hurriedly grab the nearest book off the shelf, not even bothering to check what it is before opening it to a random page and looking at it after rolling onto my stomach. Wreath would probably just think I've been reading for ages.

But, with a start, I recognise the sound of the approaching person. Everyone has a sound, or an Earth-song as some people call it; a mixture of their DNA and personality. Any kind of Earth – though stone is the easiest to imprint on – absorbs this Earth-song, and anyone who can communicate with the Earth, like me, can hear and interpret that sound, identifying someone or simply sensing their presence before they've revealed themselves. I know the Earth-song that steadily makes its way to my door, and it's not Wreath.

Opting for a better chance at defence, I slowly close the book, climbing off my bed to stand and face the door. A few seconds later, it opens, and High Priest Tenebrae steps into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Willow," he greets me, smiling. Never a good sign; this guy never smiles unless he's up to something. Ignoring my irritation at him calling me by my first name despite our long-term mutual dislike, I keep my ears open for the signals the stones are sending me; as well as hinting at who is coming, the Earth can sometimes give me clues as to their intentions.

"Tenebrae," I respond politely, deliberately not using his title. I'm not a follower, after all, so the Necromancer ranking system means nothing to me.

Annoyed disappointment flashes across his face at the disrespect he is not used to, but he quickly covers it. I smile grimly to myself in satisfaction at hitting a nerve.

"How is your health?" he inquires, like we've both been cuddly for years now.

I raise an eyebrow in disbelief. "Considering I've been stuck here, recuperating, for the past four _**hundred**_ years? It's great, thanks for asking; better late than never, as they say."

According to his facial expression, he forgot to take his sarcasm-immunity pill before coming here. Shame; he should have expected no less from me.

"So where's Wreath?" I ask, deciding to take a more neutral conversation topic to spare the old man some health risks. "I thought he was going to come and teach me this afternoon."

"Cleric Wreath is out on a mission I set for him," Tenebrae replies, apparently thankful for my change in tone.

My eyes narrow, remembering Wreath's face a few days ago, and his distracted and conflicted manner. "A mission that he doesn't agree with," I deduce, the scowl flickering across Tenebrae's face confirming my theory. "It must have been pretty important and radical if you gave him the job and he doesn't like it."

"That," he says slowly, seeming to control his voice, "is none of your concern."

"Or maybe," I ignore him and continue speculating, "you just need to do something. Something that requires his absence, because he would agree even less with whatever you're doing. Or you could be killing two birds with one stone, and both those theories could be right."

Voicing my thoughts helps the puzzle pieces click together, and as soon as I use the well-known saying – which coincidentally contains just the right word to cause this epiphany – I understand Tenebrae's reason for being in my room.

My eyes widen, flicking immediately first to the main door then the door to my bathroom. Both have a sheen to them, the Necromancer method of sealing a door from one side only.

Tenebrae pulls a lighter from under his robes.

ЖЖЖ

**Valkyrie's POV (Sorry for the constant POV change in this chapter; it won't happen all the time.)**

I'd convinced Skulduggery to take me back to the Necromancer Temple tonight for another lesson with Wreath. We won't get anything out of Marr until she's woken up, and Kenspeckle said it doesn't look like she will for a while. Tomorrow, we're taking her back to Skulduggery's for questioning. Skulduggery seemed disappointed in my eagerness to go back to the Temple, but I couldn't tell him that his line of thinking was wrong; that I wasn't eager to continue learning Necromancy, but because I hoped Willow would tell me the truth about her past this week.

He drops me off and drives away again, as always. As he's driving away, I walk casually towards the Temple doors, but as soon as I'm out of his sight I sneak around the side of the Temple, wanting to check on Willow using a method that she showed me herself.

Her room's back wall is external, and makes up a section of the Temple's outside wall on the right. Willow, who had been scouting her room before for small mercies like this one, noticed that one brick near the top of her wall is loose, and showed it to me and told me where it is along the outside wall. We've tested it before, and it works; I can work it loose from the outside, pulling it completely from the rest of the wall, and talk to her through the small gap.

I make my way there now, just to ask her if she's prepared to tell me. I may not be able to sneak out to her room this week, and I can't last another week in curiosity of her opinion on trusting me.

But when I get to the stone, my curiosity about her opinion of me doesn't matter anymore. Instead I'm curious – and alarmed – as to what has recently transpired in Willow Nightshade's room at the Necromancer Temple.

I want to know why the _**hell**_ thick smoke and almost unbearable heat are pouring out of the already-open hole that I was previously looking for.

ЖЖЖ

I don't care about theatrics now; I don't care if none of the Necromancers know where I'm going in such a rush. I just want to get to Willow as fast as I can.

My speculations about Wreath's discomfort last week come rushing back, the one at the front of my mind is the one where I deduced that Willow could be in danger. This must be the danger.

**Why**_ hadn't I got here sooner?_

I'm so wrapped up in my spiral of dread and fear and concern that a voice makes me jump.

"Miss Cain!"

That goddamned voice demands that I stop, so I grit my teeth and whirl around to face Tenebrae, my fury plain on my face as I stare at the most likely culprit for my friend's peril.

He's infuriatingly calm, seemingly alarmed only by my hurry. And smiling. He's _**smiling**_.

"Miss Cain," he repeats, quieter now that he's walked closer. "Whatever is the matt–?"

"What have you done with Willow?" I snap.

He blinks. I don't care that I'm not supposed to know about her, or that he's _**certainly**_ not supposed to know that I know about her. If I don't get to her quickly, there may not be anyone left _**to**_ know.

His eyes quickly narrow in suspicion and anger. But there's something else, too; he's not just angry that I know about her. He's got that look in his eye that villains get when the good guys find out about their evil plan before it's fully complete. "How do you know about her?"

"She's my friend!" I shout, not quite answering his question. "And you're _**killing**_ her!"

Before I see his reaction to that accusation, I sprint back in my original direction – towards Willow's room.

Luckily for me, there aren't many Necromancers down this corridor today, so Tenebrae can't get his lackeys to help him stop me. _**Un**_luckily for me, that means he has to do it himself.

I have to dive to the floor as a set of shadows swipes straight at my head, and I push myself off the floor as fast as I can, hearing Tenebrae's surprisingly fast footsteps chasing me. Dodging a few more of his attempts at throwing shadows to stop me, I know that soon he's going to try to shadow-travel directly in front of me and grab me that way.

As if he senses my thoughts, his footfalls vanish from behind me, and shadows begin to gather and congeal about seven feet in front of me. At the speed I'm going, I'll reach it in just over a second, but he'll still be solid by then. So I run diagonally, at the wall, kick off using my left foot to give me more power, then send my stuck-out right one crashing through the shadows. As I predicted, he is solid, and Tenebrae is pushed to the floor while I trample on his chest from where I hit, and continue on to the room, leaving him groaning on the floor.

I skid to a halt outside her door, breathing hard. The door tells of no mayhem and destruction inside. _Everything is normal_, it says. _You don't need to hurry._

_Screw that_.

Not trusting the handle to be at a safe temperature, I ease the shadows into the small gap between the door and the frame, finally solidifying them and yanking the door back. I just opened a dam of heat; I nearly stagger back due to the sudden blast, and fling my arm over my mouth, breathing and coughing into my sleeve against the smoke as my eyes squint against tears. One thing you never realise or remember about fire is how _**loud**_ it is. It roars and cackles in my ears, inside my very head, mocking me: _You'll never find your friend alive in this._

_It's right,_ I think. _So I'll just have to put the fire out first._

There's enough moisture in the medieval structure of the Temple to work efficiently against the fire. Even though water is the element I'm least proficient at, I still have enough skill to draw it into the air, take it into Willow's burning room and quickly liquefy it again, dousing the flames in a magically-created sprinkler system.

Without the noise, coughing from the other side of the room can be heard, the source still unclear through the steam. "Willow!"

"Val?" the raw voice calls. "Val, he's bound me! I'm in the back corner to your right!"

Following her direction, I kneel down by her, frantically working on the tight magically-containing bounds around both her wrists and her ankles. Some of her clothes have had their hems seared, and soot and fire-smoke clings to her clothes and to the sweat on her skin. Her viridian eyes are even more brilliant against the dull colour.

"We have to get out of here," Willow says. "Tenebrae might come back; he's probably heard that you're here, because Wreath isn't at the Temple to collect you or teach you."

"He already knows," I tell her. "I had a run-in in with him on the way here; he now knows I know about you. I knocked him down but he's probably getting back up soon."

"Soon?" an indignant voice taunts from the door. "Why not now?"

Freed from her bounds, Willow doesn't turn around to check that it's Tenebrae or to check his position and attack strategy. She seems to know already as she whirls around, pushing her hands out in front of her to solidify the air between us and Tenebrae, creating a shield that blocks the shadows he aims at us. Her gloved hands suddenly twist around before pointing back in Tenebrae's direction. Unbelievably, the shadows attacked us, the shadows that _**belonged**_ to _**Tenebrae**_, High Priest of the Necromancers, follow her instructions, attacking their initial master as he dives out of the way.

"You bound me twice," Willow smiles at Tenebrae as he lies sprawled across her charred bedroom floor. "I'm flattered."

She gestures back towards the wall, and Tenebrae is catapulted backwards by _**the stone floor moving. **_As he hits the wall, I watch in amazement as tree roots wrap his entire body in a cocoon within two seconds. My body is rendered useless and immobile with incredulity in this almost one-sided fight, watching as this apparently four-hundred-year-old teenager accomplishes the impossible, breaking all the typical restrictions in magical discipline.

Why didn't she ever tell me that she was this _**awesome**_?

As she turns to me, she immediately notices my stunned expression, but shrugs it off as if she's used to these looks. "I'll tell you later, okay? Let's just get out of here."

As we sprint out of and away from the Temple – we want to get away from the Necromancers _**before**_ they find out we kicked their Eminence's arse – a group of late-teenage boys loitering on the streets look up from whatever they're doing, and Willow stops dead in her tracks as they smile at us both. They walk towards us, nudging each other and snickering. It's not hard to guess their thoughts.

Willow looks ready to commit murder, her eyes, narrowed to slits, blaze with green fire, her straight white teeth are bared and her fists are clenched so tightly in front of her – obviously wanting to be around one of the boys' necks – that her knuckles flash white in the early morning sunshine. But I know this kind of anger, even if I haven't really experienced it myself; I can tell that she's afraid, and the anger has surfaced through her natural survival instinct being switched on.

"Hey, there, gorgeous," the one nearest the front grins horribly, and I suppress a shudder.

"Wow, just when I thought the lowlifes in Dublin couldn't get any _**more**_ disgusting," I snap back, sickened by the looks they're giving us both.

The face first boy, probably their leader, has a flash of anger before straightening out into malicious, sadistic egoism again. "Look, boys, this one's mouthy. By the looks of her friend, she would be feisty, too. Even if she weren't, she's a piece of a forbidden fruit that's too f*****g juicy to ignore."

Willow's eyes widen at that backhanded compliment; if she's anything like me, she's probably secretly flattered that someone thought she was beautiful, but she's going to be repulsed by being referred to as a piece of food. Standing next to her, I suddenly feel her magic run in rivers off her, her fury forcing it out of her pores, but her expression remains less angry than a few seconds ago. Now that the boys have been open about their intentions, her fear has risen up further.

"Stay the hell away from us," she growls. Before the animals even have a chance to laugh and enjoy her 'feistiness', she splays her hands out in front of her, and they are fired backwards _**at least**_ twenty feet. Their groans as they hit the floor indicate that they are not knocked out, however, and Willow seizes the chance.

"C'mon," she says, grabbing my hand and running back the way we came, looking to escape from them and the Necromancers around the other side of the Temple.

And I thought I'd seen it all. I never thought my life could get any weirder.

**Sorry if that ending is a little rushed; I kind of just want to get it up on the website. Hope you enjoyed it.**

**Fly on,**

**NitnatRide**


	3. The Bomb is Dropped

**Chapter 3: The Bomb is Dropped**

**Willow's POV**

Of course, after narrowly escaping a run-in with the head honcho of the Necromancers, it's just my luck to run into a _**gang of sorcerers**_**. **Perverted, sexist sorcerers at that; there's no mistaking the leering look we both received from each of the two boys with ran into.

Now they've called for back-up, and around a dozen are chasing me and Valkyrie through the streets of Dublin, where, of course, no mortals are out this morning to witness-protect us from being fired at with magic. I know I can't use Earth to stop them or my secret will be out. Somehow I think Val knows this too.

I stop briefly, turning around and grabbing at a stream of Air I shape like a whip. Cracking it against the ground, I watch in grim satisfaction as four of them are thrown to the side as the tarmac beneath them explodes where the Air hit. I turn back as the others continue to chase after us, catching up with Valkyrie. She turns to me, her hair streaming across her face.

"You've got some skills with magic," she compliments.

I grin at her. "You haven't seen half of it."

"I might need to."

Following her backward glance, I swear softly as I see the remaining thugs surprisingly gaining on us.

Valkyrie suddenly looks around, like she recognises her surroundings and knows where we are.

"I have an idea. Follow me!"

She veers off at the next left and I do as she says. The obscenities and threats from the guys grow louder as they move closer to us. We eventually emerge from the smaller backstreets to an open square of sorts. Valkyrie is frantically looking around, her expression getting more panicked by the second. Before I can ask her what she's looking for, however, one of the guys suddenly appears in front of us, turning from a corner a bit further ahead. Obviously they know their territory, so he went a different way to cut us off. Valkyrie and I skid to a stop, the rest of the gang now surrounding us. We step closer together, standing in the classic back-to-back position. The leader from before steps forward again, his baseball bat slapping sickeningly against his palm.

"So," he grins horribly, radiating confidence. "You chicks gonna willingly be our toys? Or do we have to knock the stuffing out of you first? I can promise you, you'll enjoy later far better if you're conscious."

Bitter bile rises up my throat as they all snicker, past memories brought back, making fear begin to claw at my senses. I quickly connect with the stones beneath my feet, with the trees at my side, their solidity grounding me, calming me.

As my thoughts become clearer, more coherent, I glance around, looking for anything that might help us in this situation. I have my magic, my skills with Air and Water that could help us while keeping my real identity secret from these thugs. What about a weapon? Is there anything I can use? Nothing but a cage.

I frown; a cage? Studying it again, I notice its size – capable of holding a large mammal, the size of a human – but my connection with the metal in the bars informs me that it's galvanised iron. A strong material, possibly overkill, even to store a mammal like a lion…. But what really catches my attention is the poor shape it's in; it looks like it was deliberately vandalised from the outside, making it un-useable.

"You don't want to fight us," Valkyrie says, bringing my concentration back to the situation, and I hear her click, presumably summoning Fire.

"Ooh," the leader taunts. "Flashy." He readies his own Fire. "Let's go, boys."

And they all charge us at once.

Before there's not enough room between us, I quickly solidify the water vapour around me and Valkyrie, creating a circular wall of ice. Creating a roof over our heads too, I swiftly instruct Valkyrie to put her fingers in her ears. Luckily she obeys without question, and I make small holes in the ice before sucking Air fast into our enclosure. The resulting sound is like a higher, more piercing version of nails on a chalkboard, and I force myself to block out the sound as I see the blurry shapes of the boys outside buckle slightly. They're at their weakest.

_Now_.

Faster than I forced it in, I blast all the Air outwards, the pressure shattering the ice and pushing the large blocks into some of the guys, knocking them to the floor and unconscious. Two boys remain. One of them rushes at me surprisingly fast, fury plain on his face while the other grabs Valkyrie. I cry out as my opponent strikes me across the face, fisting my hair at the scalp and forcing my head back.

"Forget knocking the stuffing out of you," he spits at me, and I feel the cold of a knife-blade to my throat. "I'll _**cut**_ it out."

Panic sets in. I glance around. Something to use. Give me something to use.

Nothing.

He draws back the knife…

…and is pulled away from me. Whatever life-saving force is present, it's too fast for me to see, as I tilt my head down again and both my captive and Valkyrie's are on the floor and out cold.

Valkyrie is glancing around, searching for our saviour as I am, but she seems less apprehensive, a small smile gracing her features. I speak to the Earth, asking it to inform me of another presence –.

"I seem to have a knack for saving you just in time."

Out of sheer instinct, I whirl around, snapping my palm at the target, just to the right of where Valkyrie is standing, and the Air pushes the person against the nearest wall. Before I realise the implications of my actions, I call a tree-root up through the bricks to exit and wrap around their neck, holding them suspended in the air. Only after all this is done – about three seconds – do I actually look at my victim. And I'm glad of that order of events; I wouldn't have been able to do any of that had I looked first.

At around eighteen or nineteen, he is…gorgeous. There's no other word for it. His eyes, almost as raven black as his thick, curling ruffled hair, stare down at me in slight fear and surprise at my attack. His obviously toned biceps and abs flex and strain beneath his tight, blood-red T-shirt and beige calf-length raincoat as he claws futilely at the root around his neck. His skin is so pale, and completely flawless…

Distracted by my ogling, I don't register Valkyrie moving closer to me before she starts talking.

"Willow, Willow, he's fine. He's a friend. He saved us and has saved and helped me and the other before too."

"Pleasure to meet you," the 'friend' wheezes in what I imagine would be a sarcastic way were it not for the root.

Trusting Val's decision, I release the guy, who drops to his feet, doubled over and gasping. He straightens up again a few seconds later – half a head taller than me and apparently quick to recover from oxygen deprivation – and rubs his neck.

"Why do people like holding me against walls by my neck so much?"

Valkyrie, obviously knowing what past experience he was talking about, shrugs. "Poetic irony? With your vampire-ness and all?"

"I thought you were a vampire," I interrupt.

He turns to me, curiosity and surprise written on his face. "You did? What gave me away?"

"The speed of your attack. And the fact that you managed to sneak up on me; that's hard to do, hence my reaction."

He raises his eyebrows. "Oh, right. My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Yes, you did," I smile, and he blinks at my reply. "You just weren't counting on my response."

The vampire is still for a few moments before his face breaks out into an unrepentant and…_**sexy**_ grin. "Touché."

I smirk back at him before he offers his hand to me. "Caelan."

I take his cold hand in my own – wow, it's so soft – and shake it once. "Willow Nightshade."

We stand like that for God-knows-how-long, staring and smiling at each other like idiots. It's only when Valkyrie clears her throat, somehow displaying her amusement in that action, that we break both physical and eye-contact.

"I'll, uh," Valkyrie waves her mobile in front of her, "just go and call Fletcher for a lift."

"Ah, the Teleporter," I say as Valkyrie walks off a little.

"You know him?" Caelan inquires, his tone giving me the impression that the two are not on the best terms.

"I know of him; Val's told me about him."

We stand in silence for a while, relishing the fact that it's comfortable rather than awkward, before he speaks again.

"So," he begins. Uh oh, here it comes… "Willow Nightshade, huh? I guess that would explain the manipulation of the tree root."

I glance sideways at him. "You know the limits of Elemental magic," I note. "Where you one before…?"

"Before I died and was turned into a hideous monster?" he finishes, grimly amused that I couldn't finish the sentence. "Yes."

I snort before I can stop myself, muttering, "Not that hideous." The turn of his head to face me indicates I didn't mutter quietly enough. As the heat of a blush blossoms across my face, I duck my head slightly before looking up at him through my eyelashes. That grin is back, and I turn my head away again, even more embarrassed.

"Willow," he calls me softly, apologetically. It sounds so sweet in his smooth, soft voice. I raise my head to look at him again.

"I was only teasing," he pleads, and his expression is so sincere I can't help but smile at him again. He returns it gratefully.

"Besides," he continues. "You're, uh…" – he clears his throat and looks away – "…not hideous yourself."

I face forward again to hide a smile, touched by his sincerity, sweetness and endearing sheepishness. But of course my memory can't cope with being considered good-looking without bringing _**him**_ up. I begin to tremble slightly, never-dying fear pushing its way into my mind again.

"Thank you," I reply to Caelan's compliment, but figuratively kick myself when I hear the tremble has entered my voice too. Caelan notices it, too; out of the corner of my eye, I see him turn to me, a frown upon his handsome face. I brace myself for questions as I see him open his mouth, but I am saved when a boy of about seventeen appears in front of us, his blue eyes sparkling with self-confidence – almost to the point of arrogance – and his blonde hair flopping adorably into his eyes.

"The Teleporter Express is now taking passengers," he calls in his English accent.

I roll my eyes at the lame joke, glad for the distraction and smiling when I catch Caelan doing the same thing.

"Fletch, that's kind of a lame joke." I'm glad his girlfriend has the decency to tell him.

Fletcher shrugs, unconcerned. "Are you all coming?" His eyes fall to Caelan, confirming my theory of their less-than-perfect relationship.

"Yes, Fletcher. Caelan, too; we owe it to him to explain why he needed to save our skins."

Fletcher's head snaps back to Caelan at his girlfriend's admittance that he saved her life. A sort of grudging gratefulness creeps into his eyes, and Caelan's head tips forward slightly in acceptance.

"I never did say thank you for saving us," I realise, talking to Caelan while we walk up to Fletcher at his beckon.

"No problem," Caelan smiles, stopping by Fletcher beside me.

We all form a sort of huddle, with Fletcher holding Valkyrie's hand, she holding one of mine, and my other holding Caelan's. Fletcher and Caelan's hands are not joined.

"So," the Teleporter says brightly. "Skulduggery's house?" Valkyrie confirms his guess.

I'm about to say, "Wait, what?" but before I can my stomach is tumbling around inside me while the Dublin street scenery gives way to tasteful yet slightly old-fashioned front-hallway decor. **(Sorry; can't remember what his house looks like, so forgive any mistakes in the description.)**

The welcoming smell of the oak staircase to my right, the floor and most of the furniture prevents me from up-chucking my recent breakfast, stabilising me so I don't stumble too much. Caelan isn't so lucky; he staggers to the wall, sagging against it.

"Nothing personal, Fletcher," he groans. "But I am never doing that again."

"You'll get used to it, vampire," Fletcher argues, completely unmoved by Caelan's discomfort. "Val has; the first time I Teleported with her, she punched me after." Fletcher and Val grin at each other, obviously remembering the good memory. Caelan cracks a small smile too, but I figure it is more to do with the mental picture of Fletcher getting punched. The fact that Valkyrie was the one who punched him only adds to his enjoyment.

And then another voice joins in from the room through the open double doors after the end of the cupboard under the stairs. A familiar voice, one that I've been simultaneously waiting and dreading to hear for four hundred years.

**Valkyrie's POV**

"So have your lessons finished altogether now?" Skulduggery sounds hopeful from the lounge.

"I wouldn't be surprised," I reply. "I may not be welcome again after the narrow and dramatic escape my friend and I pulled."

"Yes, Fletcher told us about that. Where is this friend, then?"

I walk in front of the open double doors where everyone – Ghastly and Tanith are there too – would see us. But turning back to the others, I see Willow has remained where she is, her face ashen. Her sudden mood change has caused Caelan to stay near her, frowning in concern and confusion as I am.

"She's right here, but she doesn't look like she wants to come out." I hold out my hand, trying to encourage her. "Willow, come on; don't you want to meet them?"

The sudden icy silence in the lounge adds to my curiosity, and I turn back to face the occupants. Skulduggery, in one of the armchairs, slowly lowers his book to look at me.

"What did you say her name was?" He almost whispers.

"Willow?" My confusion makes it come out as a question.

All at once, Skulduggery drops his book and half-runs into the hallway, quickly followed by Ghastly. Tanith follows, curious. Ghastly and Skulduggery look up and down the hallway before their eyes finally land on Willow, who gasps. Yeah, I guess a living skeleton and a guy covered in scars will do that to you.

The scene's intensity ratchets up as Skulduggery strides towards Willow, and she backs up to the end wall by the front door, her expression solidly terrified. Caelan looks itching to step forward to defend his new – ahem – "friend", but submits to standing at the side as Skulduggery and Willow stare at each other.

"I'd heard," Willow whispers, her tone despairing. "But I didn't believe…" She reaches up to run a finger on the top of the left cheekbone. "I want to see your eyes."

"You can," he whispers back, doing the same action to her. "If you look in the mirror."

A sob bursts up Willow's throat as she collapses into his arms.

"Please, don't hate me," she cries into his coat. "I wanted to find you, but –"

"No, no, of course not."

Skulduggery looks over his shoulder to study the expressions of varying degrees of confusion and curiosity, on my face as well as Fletcher's, Caelan's and Tanith's. He sighs heavily, pulling reluctantly away from Willow to position her face us, and stands behind her, his hands on her shoulders.

"Valkyrie, Fletcher, Tanith," he addresses us. "Caelan," he adds, grudgingly. "Let me introduce you to Willow Nightshade. My daughter."


End file.
